🍁Nine Ancient Obelisks

The three-tailed whip rustles gently in the air, and its handle rests in Ushumgall's palm as familiarly and comfortably as the hilt of a saber. The red marks on her snow-white skin form a new, whimsical pattern with each swing, as if it were a very careless tattoo, and when his partner flinches from the blow, he himself feels as if the whip first burns the delicate skin, then the impulse from the blow bypasses the almost non-existent layer of fat, makes the muscles tremble, and reverberates in the lungs. He hits hard and accurately – the whip is too soft to cause serious damage. If he had a heavy scourge, he could cut the flesh to the bone... Then this graceful back would become twice as beautiful. His face twitches with predatory excitement. The stern gaze of the instructor suggests that he should not give in to anger. Ushumgall himself feels the line that separates human pleasure from causing pain, from the pure rage of a beast. With each whip strike, with each drop of hot wax, he gets closer and closer to this line, he swings the whip faster and faster, he lowers the candle lower and lower, and, already close to causing a real burn, he stops his hand. What is happening now should be much closer to sex than to battle. The process is more important than the result, and in this game there are no losers. And there is no need to rush. Three seconds is enough for both of them to take a breath, take a small step back, moving away from the peak of pleasure and pain, and the instructor, with a barely perceptible nod, already gives the signal to continue. The handcuffs dig into her delicate wrists; it will take some time for the marks to fade. Ushumgall takes the chain and lifts his partner with one hand. She weighs no more than forty kilograms; with his strength, he could lift her above his head or drag her behind him like a rag doll. The metal digs deeper, and a quiet moan escapes her. He has to punish her with the whip – otherwise, she cannot be taught... He raises his arm, she closes her eyes, but the blow does not follow. Predictability is always bad; Ushumgall saves the blow until the green-haired girl, in confusion, opens her eyes. His arm shoots out like a coiled spring, making his partner feel the whole difference between prepared pain and unexpected pain. There are only two paths – overcoming and submission, and she needs to understand that the second is easier and more pleasant... The last stage of pain is fear. He takes the chain and wraps it around her neck. Ushumgall immediately noticed that the girl is very attractive – but only now, with her skin flushed from the blows, with drops of wax frozen on her body, with traces from the handcuffs and the chain around her neck – now she is truly beautiful. Leaning on her spine with his knee, he pulls on the ends of the chain until her eyes widen with horror. “Enough!” When he releases the chain, the girl falls to the floor, not very gracefully, like a sack of potatoes. Gently, almost paternally, he puts his arms around her shoulders and helps her to her feet. “It was good, you did well. Thank you.” He turns to Naoe. “And thank you, Master. I think I still have a lot to learn, as soon as I get a little money. Oh yes, since I'm here, will you put a magatama on?”